


Werewolves and Whiskey

by alphabetgirl



Series: Der-Bear series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: De-Aged Derek, Humour, Whiskey - Freeform, mischievous Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:15:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphabetgirl/pseuds/alphabetgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sheriff looks after Derek. It's not as easy as he first thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werewolves and Whiskey

Stiles yawned tired as he drove the jeep towards his home for a fresh change of clothes and a nice, warm shower. Glancing in the rear view mirror, he wasn't suprised that Derek was standing on the back seat again, trying to swing from the handle that was supposed to be used by car sick people, not hyperactive werewolves.

"Derek, Sit down or no more cookies!" Stiles threatened. 

He didn't like using his angry parent voice, but it had the desired effect as the pup obediently sat crosslegged on the back seat. 

Smiling in satisfaction, Stiles turned back around to focus on the road again. He had started taking the little werewolf with him whenever he had to run errands, after an attempted trip home had resulted in a panicked phone call from Scott because the three year old had gotten so worked up at the absence of his mate that he had passed out. Yep, it was better that he just kept Derek with him. 

His dad opened the front door for them as they were walking up the drive way, Stiles keeping a tight hold on the collar of Derek's little leather jacket to stop him from chasing the neighbour's prize ragdoll cat. 

"You look shattered, son," John murmured sympathetically once they were inside and Derek was settled in front of the television.

"I didn't get much sleep last night," Stiles admitted. "He kept on having nightmares about the fire," he whispered.

"He remembers?"

"Somewhere in his subconscious. Peter says it's good. Memories coming back means that the spell is wearing off," He paused to rub at his aching neck. "We're both sleeping on the floor at the minute, which also makes it hard to sleep,".

"Umm...Why the floor?"

"He's decided that the big boy bed is too dangerous,". Stiles explained with a pang of guilt. During yesterday's nap, Derek had rolled off the bed again, and Stiles, half asleep himself, had failed to catch him in time. Derek had declared the big boy bed too dangerous for both of them and insisted that they both sleep on the floor. 

"I remember when you went through that stage," John said, a nostalgic look in his eye.

"Dad," Stiles groaned through a yawn.

"Why don't you go and have a lie down? I can watch Derek for a little while,".

Stiles glanced uncertainly towards the place where the three year old was sat, still engrossed in the cartoons.

"I don't know. He can be a bit of a handful...".

"You're forgetting that I've looked after a hyperactive three year old before," his dad chuckled. "If I have any problems, I'll call you,".

"O.K," Stiles replied with a tired smile, heading towards the stairs. "Thanks,".

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

45 minutes later and Derek had yet to move from his position in front of the television. John was suprised at how much of his paperwork he managed to get done without interupption.

"Handful, my foot," he muttered to himself. "Piece of cake,".

He managed to get the report he was working on finished before he felt familiar feeling in his gut, the exact feeling he used to get when Stiles was younger and was doing something mischievous. A glance to the couch revealed that Derek was no longer watching television. In fact,he wasn't anywhere to be seen. Quickly getting to his feet, John forced himself to remain calm. He couldn't have gone far, he'd probably just gone looking for Stiles. After checking that the doors and windows were all still locked, he set about searching the downstairs area for the missing werewolf, not wanting to bother his son unless he had to. 

A thorough search of the living room and broom cupboard proved fruitless, and the stubborn little so-and-so refused to answer when called. He double and triple checked that all of the windows were locked and that the door was still safely bolted, proving that the three year old couldn't have left the building any other way. There wasnt many places to hide in the kitchen, but he checked the biscuit cupboard, behind the fridge and inside the washing machine. (Stiles' favourite hiding place when he was three). He was just about to go upstairs and see if he was in his son's room when he heard a noise coming from the only place he hadn't checked. The cupboard under the sink. 

The sheriff slowly opened the double doors to the cupboard, to be greeted by the sight of Derek beaming up at him happily, squinting slightly in the sudden light. The initailly wave of relief rapidly wore off as he realised what the young werewolf was holding. His prized bottle of 40 year old Malt Whiskey. The one that he had successfully kept hidden from his over protective, health freak of a son. There was only a few mouthfuls left in the bottom of the bottle, whereas he knew for a fact that it had been almost full last night. 

"Shit," he cursed, grabbing the werewolf under the arms and pulling him out of the cupboard, earning himself an indignant growl as he did so.

"Stiles," he shouted up the stairs, sitting the child on the kitchen counter and yanking the bottle from his grasp when he moved to take another swig. "Call an ambulance,".

What did they say about alcohol consumption in children? Were you supposed to make them sick? Derek hiccupped and then growled and reached for the bottle, fangs beginning to drop down from his top row of teeth. No, the sheriff was not keen of the idea of trying to shove his fingers down that particular three year old's throat. Stiles was racing down the stairs by that point, arriving in the kitchen in record time with his phone in hand.

"What happened?" he asked.

"He hid in the cupboard under the sink and drank nearly a full bottle of whiskey," sheriff explained, holding the whiskey bottle in one hand and trying to fend off the frustrated werewolf with the other. 

Stiles stared for a few seconds, eyes flicking between them and the bottle before he burst into hysterical laughter, leaning against the doorframe to hold himself upright. John stared at the teenager as if he had grown a second head.

"Oh my god, that's hilarious," Stiles laughed, clutching his stomach. "Werewolves aren't affected by human alcohol. Even when they are that age, it can't do them any damage,".

The sheriff sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, absentmindedly tipping the rest of the whiskey into the sink while immense relief washed over him in waves. It took a good five minutes for Stiles to calm down enough to form full sentences again while Derek sat and sulked about his new 'juice' being taken away. 

"That was a bottle of 40 year old malt," John eventually complained as Stiles lifted Derek off the counter and set him on his hip. 

"Derek cares about you too, you know. He doesn't want you to damage your liver drinking that yucky stuff neither,".

"So he decided to drink it instead. How thoughtful," John muttered sarcastically.

"Yes," Stiles cooed to Derek. "You were a good boy, getting rid of my dad's whiskey. Yes, you were".

Derek hiccupped in response, and then yawned widely.

"Are you tired, buddy?" Stiles asked, carrying the pup from the room. "You come and have a lie down with me,".

The pair headed upstairs, leaving John to stair forlornly at the now empty bottle on the table. 

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Six months later

The first thing that the sheriff noticed upon entering the kitchen was the note left lying on the table. By the handwriting, he could tell that it wasn't Stiles that left it, and all it said was.

"Look under the kitchen sink,".

There, tucked into the far corner of the cupboard, was a full bottle of 40 year old malt whiskey.


End file.
